That which does not kill you only makes you stronger, right? Wrong
by DivineHerondales
Summary: My idea of what might have happened if Tris stayed in Abnegation, and, instead, a very different 'Stiff' transferred in her place. Crossover; Divergent/ Mortal Instruments/ Hunger Games/ Pacific Rim/ Percy Jackson. Rated T for some swearing. Please, please, please R&R! I own nothing x
1. Prologue

**A/N; **Well hello there! Yeah, so here's the prologue. BTW, I used to write on a different account, so this isn't my first story. Anyway; please please please R&R! Enjoy

Caitlin xx

**DISCLAIMER; I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES, DIVERGENT, PACIFIC RIM, THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS OR HEROES OF OLYMPUS, THEY BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE (AMAZING) WRITERS!**

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Though she had not imagined herself thinking or believing these words perhaps ever, Isabella Morgenstern could see the end. She had done a lot in her eleven and a half years of life, but none of it had ever seemed difficult. Hunting demons? Something she was born to do. Killing monsters? Give her a break. Even a Kaiju had never come close to harming her. She saw it all as easy.

But now, running through the artificial forest of the arena, running from almost certain death, she could almost see that metaphorical light people talked about, the one at the end of the tunnel, and was fighting the images flashing in front of her eyes, the flashbacks of her life. A sixteen year old Natalie, cleaning dishes at the kitchen sink of their District Twelve home as she played with some blocks on the floor. Nat, who is older now, laughing; the day they were fitted for their bodysuits and began piloting Olympian Fire, Isabella's proudest achievement to date. Her fathers, smiling proudly at her as she presented the Titans Tethys and Crius, whom she had defeated near her tenth birthday when they attempted to rise from Tartarus.

"Little girl!" The older boy, the only other current survivor, sing-songed, thundering behind her and pulling her back to reality, back to the moment. She set her jaw- that bastard had killed her only friend twelve days earlier. She'd killed his 'girlfriend' in retaliation, but he'd fled before she could dispose of him. The girl was the first she'd killed in the arena, but she was not the last.

The film she'd had over her eyes in the beginning- the hopeful ideal that she could win and not kill anyone, or have James win and her die in his place- was lifted. She was no longer hesitant; a scary thought for someone who had vowed not four weeks earlier that she would not allow the Games to change her.

Oh, how naïve she had been.

Finding it difficult to breathe, Isabella was forced to stop running. Glancing around, she saw that she was somewhere near the Cornucopia, the place where it had all started what seemed like a lifetime ago. Weeks of not eating properly had made her weak, as had the bleeding bullet wound in her back, the slice down her side, and now, she knew, they would be her downfall.

"So it all comes down to us," The boy, from District One, was handsome- she had to admit it. He was a career- his huge stature had barely been altered despite the apparent lack of food in the vicinity. "I have to say, I didn't think you would make it this far." He stepped forward, and Isabella stepped away from him automatically. Not of her own accord, her hand went to her 'necklace'- a pretty little locket with a ruby stone, containing the only picture of her mother that she had. Of course, it wasn't really a necklace; in reality, it was the sword that her brother had forged in the fires of Mount Olympus, the sword that could be whatever she wanted it to be, mimic the powers of whoever she wanted it to.

"I'm just full of surprises." She spat back, bitter and full of hatred. He grinned, slowly, with a look in his eyes that made her blood run cold. They were barren, contained no signs of a conscience; rather, they looked bright and alert, like he was excited about the fact that he was about to slaughter an eleven year old girl in cold blood.

_NO!_ She shouted at herself. _Don't you even think about allowing that to happen, Izzy!_

"I'm going to do you a favour." He said, tilting his head to study her. "I'm going to kill you quickly, painlessly."

"Are you now?" She asked, inching her hand back very slowly, steadily, to the dagger still sitting in the golden horn. Thankfully, he didn't notice.

"I think you've earned that much."

"How kind of you." She said, smiling without meaning to as her hand reached the handle and she grasped it tightly, the weight similar to that of the seraph blades she'd been hunting with since she was eight. He stepped closer again, taking his gun out of its holster, but this time, she did not move to avoid him.

"Thanks for making this so easy." He said, taking aim, directly at her head. She grinned, very slowly.

"No." She assured him, "Thank you." Looking confused, his hand trembled a bit. As she saw the vulnerability that did actually exist within him, she felt overwhelmingly guilty. The boy was just a kid, no matter how much of a douche he was; just a mortal, just a human- and Nat had always reminded her that mortals made mistakes. Made loads of them. Something clogging her throat, she almost lost her grip on the weapon.

She felt the pain before she heard the shot.

Her back was already burning from the bullet wound she sustained from the same kid when James died, but now flames erupted on her left shoulder, paralysing her. White hot pain blinded her and she had to bite her lip to stop herself crying out, using her good arm to grasp the cornucopia and hold herself up. He laughed, as warm, hot blood began to spill over her shoulder. As her vision once more solidified, Isabella found that she had not lost her grip on the dagger.

"Hey Blake." She managed to say, fixing him with a stare. He glanced at her, confident that his victory was certain, eyebrows furrowed. "Surprise." As hard as she could, her throwing arm still functional, she threw the dagger with deadly precision. He stiffened and fell, grabbing for the implement sticking out of his chest. She stayed where she was, not able to watch the boy in his last moments, stood still until the cannon blast signalling his death rang out in the clearing. There was silence, then, at last, for the first time; at least, until the fanfare started.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Claudius Templesmith boomed, "I am pleased to present to you, the victor of the seventieth annual Hunger Games; from District Twelve, Isabella Morgenstern!"


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N; Thanks for the follows and favourites! Anyway, here's chapter one. Please, please, please R&R!**

**DISCLAIMER IN PROLOGUE**

**Caitlin xx**

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**NOW**

_Fifty miles south from the border of District Twelve_

_Five years later_

1) Izzy

2) Uriah

3) Edward

4) Lynn

5) Marlene

6) Will

7) Christina

8) Peter

9) James

10) Gemma

"We did it!" Christina laughs, hugging me tightly. It's a gesture I've only recently had to get used to again, after five years of pretending to be Abnegation.

"Well done!" I exclaim, kissing her cheek and squeezing her arm. She skip's away and finds Will, kissing him. All around me, the Dauntless celebrate. Uriah's brother messes with his hair and tackles him mockingly. Seeing it makes me almost pine for my brothers and sisters; makes me shiver with Déjà vu.

"Hey." A warm hand lightly touches my arm, a touch that is hesitant. It is the hesitancy of the gesture that tells me who it is. Four, his dark eyes glittering, turns me to face him. He's smiling, and it makes him look a lot more handsome than when he scowls. _Hopefully he'll be doing a lot less of that now that training is over, _I think.

"Hey." I say softly, heart speeding up a bit. He glances around, then looks back at me.

"If I hugged you," He says slowly, "Would it give too much away?"

"You know what?" I grin, hands on my hips, stepping closer.

"What?" He asks, tilting his head. I slide my arms around his waist.

"I don't care." I lean up on my tiptoes and kiss him; in front of my friends, in front of my enemies, in front of my new, extended, family. Christina and Will stare, Uriah and Marlene whoop; and for the first time since before the games, I feel at home.

"Alright, alright!" Eric shouts over the chaos, scowling in our direction as I pull back, scarlet red, and she sits back down again. I don't. The others move up to give Four a seat, and Christina looks at me scandalously. I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at her, turning to remove my jacket. The lights go out and on the wall behind me, and a projector flickers to life.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of Chicago." A familiar voice says, making me freeze as though someone has shoved a rod down my spine. "Welcome to the Seventieth Annual Hunger Games!"

The games started showing in Chicago a year ago.

A warning, I guess, from the Erudite; a way of preventing people from even attempting to go beyond the fence. It works, sure, but it's been making me anxious. To be honest, I've been anticipating this day since they'd begun with a history of Panem on Natalie's twenty-sixth birthday. The last one I saw was the thirty-eighth, the day before I transferred. They must have had them on more often, to have reached the seventieth in just over four weeks. I thought I'd have at least five weeks, if not more. We'd be past the quarter quell at that point.

I remember the day I was reaped clear as day, as though it were only yesterday.

It was hot- too hot, and I'd been more than a little uncomfortable in her heavy woollen dress. I did not fit in with the other Seam kids; they were all dark and I was all light. I'd been one of the youngest, and was in the second row. I remember thinking how strange Effie Trinket was; how strange it was that I never got over that tiny little small and insignificant fact, even though a lot about the reaping's were strange.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Claudius Templesmith booms behind me, sounding more than a little pleased. I know immediately how they are starting this particular instalment of _An Extensive History of the Hunger Games, _and it doesn't bode well for me. In a matter of seconds, the entire of the Dauntless faction will know who I am; will know what I did. Slowly, very slowly, I turn to watch the boy from District One's final moments.

"I give you the Winner of the Seventieth Annual Hunger Games;" Flashes of images appear on the screen. I ignore Four's gestures for me to sit, practically hollowing out the inside of my cheek as I watch the photographs of the other tributes flash on the screen, in order of their Districts. The boy from One who killed James; the girlfriend whom I subsequently killed. Then Two, Three, James and his friend. Five, Six and so on. The picture of the boy alone from Twelve flashes, and then it cuts to the footage from the last few minutes of the games. "From District Twelve, Isabella Morgenstern!"

Chatter starts almost immediately, so fast it's kind of scary. Four stares blankly at the screen, glancing between it and me quickly. I don't move now, having backed myself up as far as I can go; back to the wall.

"_Are you now?"_ I hear my eleven year old self ask, pouring as much sarcasm into the words as is possible.

"_Yes."_ The boy replies confidently, _"I think you've earned that much."_

"Turn it off." I say quietly. Nobody is speaking and nobody replies.

"_Thanks for making it so easy." _The boy continues, his voice making my blood run as cold today, just as it did when I was still a child; for I consider myself a child up until the moment I killed Blake. Naïve; up until that point, naïve and thinking that I could win without any more violence. When that bullet had lodged in my shoulder-blade, when I had lost feeling in my left arm for the second time in my life, I also lost my innocence; I lost the determination that I would be good and saw only my family, who I had to protect. I _had _to survive, if not for myself than for them.

"_No." _I hear myself say, _"Thank you."_

It happens on the tape faster than I remember it happening in real life. The gunshot, I mean. I feel the pain as though it happens again, though it probably has something to do with the shudder that goes through me and the gunshot from Peter last week.

"_Hey Blake. Surprise."_


End file.
